


Of Cards and Dust

by Lemon_Seedy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bike Racer Keith, Fighter Shiro, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Keith's dad - Freeform, Lonely Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mentions of Blood, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pidge & Matt computer besties, Pining Lance (Voltron), Poverty, Prince Lance (Voltron), Shiro's dad - Freeform, Slow Burn, also dead bodies, but not oblivious about Keith, don't worry it'll turn out fine, klance, klangst, mechanic hunk, probably other things I'll add later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:03:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Seedy/pseuds/Lemon_Seedy
Summary: Keith was by no means a good person. He’d gotten into one too many bar fights to be considered normal, he’d stumbled back to bed drunk more than once, and his main source of income was bike racing. Illegal bike racing.And yet here he was, hauling some passed out, frostbitten guy back to his shack in the middle of a blizzard at 11 o’clock at night.





	1. Author's Notes

**Author's Note:**

> In which Keith lives on the outskirts of the city in poverty, racing his bike to earn enough to pay off his missing father’s rent (debt) for his tiny desert shack. Shiro is his basically adopted brother who fights in the pits for a living and has a badass metal arm, Hunk has a small repair shop the size of a public toilet but the quality of a master tinkerer, pidge and Matt do something with computers to earn their money (though Keith isn’t quite sure what they do). Together they are (kinda?) friends who live in the overly large majority of the population at the very bottom of the social order.
> 
> And then there’s Lance. 
> 
> Lance is a slightly oblivious prince who lives in the highest part of the mega city with his sister Princess Allura, his father King Alfor and a butt ton of noble family relatives that he adores. They all live at the very top of the food chain, up in the giant castles and floating gardens and fancy mansions, the exact opposite of the other 98%. So every month or so, the royal family takes a trip down to the lower levels of their city, to offer one (and only one) new job position and chance at new life to one lucky soul. But Lance can’t figure out why the people down bellow glare at them with a burning, passionate hatred. And to find out why, escapes into the bottom for a planned two weeks to live among the citizens. 
> 
> He somehow ends up in some random guy’s shack with frostbite and maybe a huge crush. Maybe.

Ok so this is my first fanfic I'm posting here. Obviously.

 

It's currently 1:52 am as I'm writing this down, I needed a break from my grueling graphic design homework and overdue literature essay and I've been meaning to start this fic for a while now.

 

Anyway, since this is the first fic I'm posting it probably won't be the best quality, and I apologize. Hopefully though, with time (and more stories) we can pick up some steam and I might end up re-doing this in the future with better ideas, better writing skills, and more time to do things.

 

This definitely won't have an upload schedule, I will just write and post when I have the time, but I will be creating some kind of structure to uploads eventually. That being said, I am horrible at meeting deadlines and apologize for that also. I'm just terrible. My teachers hate me so much.

 

Also be aware that I have exams in a couple of months so you might not see much of this fic until the holidays or any random days off I have.

 

I'm pretty open to ideas at this point, so if you think of a great way to torture these guys even more then don't hesitate to share. Punctuation tips are also appreciated.

 

So yeah 

 

Buckle up this is gonna be wild. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, this took way too long! And get ready for season 7 folks, August 10th is not far away!

Unless you lived next to the Core, you didn’t feel the rain.

The Core powered everything, the lights, the technology, the energy. The Core was the only thing keeping the city from imploding, that is, falling completely into the kilometers wide hole that the oversized battery was built in.

_ Useless thing, couldn’t even stand up without being buried in dirt. _

Maybe Keith was just biased to look at the giant cylindrical phone charger that ran their city with so much disdain, being that his father had  _ apparently _ lost his life there, and it was always on the verge of blowing up it seemed.  But he often couldn’t help but wonder if the other five levels of their city felt the same, to some degree anyway.

Climax obviously didn’t care, they were living above everything on their giant colour-coded floaty discs and fancy, artistic buildings and expensive silver pathways that didn’t flood when it rained, they couldn’t even see the Core from where they were, that goddamn castle was built directly above it, not to mention the whole second level that separated them.  Rising also didn’t care much. The Shadows, as Keith had come to calling them, only valued their crops and animals, and of course, living in the shadows of Climax, desperate to catch their attention. The discs that they lived on covered their view of anything below the Shadows, including the Core at the centre of the city, and the other three levels.

He knew it rained up there.  It rained at his place too, but only because he was outside of the city boundaries where the other four levels didn’t get in the way.  The view of the desert and cityscape was usually a welcome sight that he enjoyed, especially at dawn where the clouds of dust billowed through the empty plains, just for him.

But the start line was dark, the lights that were on the damp sand track flickered with continuous use, and the few drops of water from above buried themselves in the built up muck. 

He wasn’t outside the city here, he couldn’t see the clouds.

It all smelled oily and sweaty, it was humid, it was loud, the sharp sting of petrol burned the throat of those not used to it.

Keith smiled into his helmet as he gripped the handles of his bike, numerous engines roared that drowned out the rapids in the streets.

He couldn’t taste the high winds of the desert surrounding them, he was too far in for that, but he would feel it soon, once the flag bearer said go.

He was the fastest one here, and he goddamn knew it, chasing the wind was all he was good for anyway. 

It whipped around his bare neck, at the places not covered by his his collar, the chill biting at his skin, it carried stray water particles that were only just visible, floating down the stretch. 

The breeze never lasted long, as the flag was raised. The wind ebbed him on.

Time slowed, the pale fabric a stark contrast to the looming piles of garbage and metal sheets that was their makeshift track.

A thundering crowd, they were all nobodies here, even on the start line.

The engines bellowed. 

But they wouldn’t be heard, not here. The towering buildings made sure of that, any echos would soon be muffled amongst the whine of rusted metal and deteriorating brick, built up like dirt.

The absent wind ebbed him on, towards the rains and dust, his fingers clenched and heart beat hard as the flag flew its colours. 

 

-

 

It wasn’t that Keith hated the constant barrage of dirty tactics, it came with the illegal part of the races and he knew that, no one here played fair; not even him.

And it also wasn’t the terrible state racing during an early winter rainstorm left him in either, sure the mud would stain for weeks, even though his leather jacket and pants were completely black, and sure his helmet did need a new visor and the rock that forced it to be so just happened to also embed itself in his face just below his eye; he still had the scar, it still occasionally stung.

But what he could never accept was when some hotshot from the higher levels demanded to be apart of their business, and then proceeded to be a huge, arrogant asshole that paid no heed to everyone else trying to make a living at these races. The guy had barely gotten through his first lap when a camera began documenting his “rise to fame, from hopeful to pro”.

Keith leaned against his bike, the worn red metal caked in dirt still warmer than his fingers, it had been a long, cold night all but ruined by the asshole’s epic crash. 

“ ‘Nother one bites the dust,” Rolo’s gravelly voice tore him away from the scene in front him. The man gave him a suspicious glare.

“it wasn’t me, I don’t know who did it, and he deserved it.” Keith sighed and Rolo laughed,

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, it just looks coincidental that you won by a long shot,  _ again _ , and the new guy got his face smashed in,” the mischievous glint in his eye as he crossed his arms however, proved his real thoughts.  Keith wouldn’t put it past the guy to have had something to do with the horrific pile up that had  _ unfortunately _ broken many bones of up and rising star Richard Whatshisface. He did have a habit of rigging certain things to collapse and cause a scene at  _ just _ the right time, when he was paid enough to do so anyway.

Someone, presumably a recent patron, waved Rolo over on the other side of the pit and he pushed himself off of an empty canister of oil, “well, see ya again eventually, Keith,” he nodded his head and jogged away, leaving Keith to himself.

Not like it was usually any different anyway.

He never really spoke to anyone at the races that weren’t Rolo, he was only here to earn Cards to pay off the debt his father had left behind when he left for the last time all those years ago, and he knew many of the other drivers were probably in the same situation, or at least, something relatively similar.

Hardly anyone talked if there wasn’t something to gain out of it, whether that be betting habits, strategy or approximately how much they were willing to lose in a round. It was how he liked it anyway, if he didn’t draw any attention to himself, no-one would bother him, if he flountered his many victories like a lot of others did  _ that _ was when people would crowd. He hated people.

Some peachy faced bright-eyes would often join them to try and get into racing as a competitive sport, it was a far bigger deal in other cities than it was where they currently were after all, Altea was more concerned with petty ball games than it was racing, there were more opportunities elsewhere, and that meant a way out.  Those few hopefuls never got far racing with Keith’s group, and would often leave after a short while, when they realized these types of races weren’t the best way to up their credibility.

Keith felt like an old man as he stalked past two of those ‘opportunists’, they had only been here a week and he could clearly see they were beginning to give up. 

Hands in pockets, he reached the desks, the metal surrounding them that vaguely resembled a shed was ancient, the only thing holding the mismatch of dull colours together at this point was duct tape. The desks themselves weren’t much better.

“Kogane, huh?” the pot bellied man flipped through the large paper book, barely giving him a glance, his navy blue cap dipped with his head, “well done, kid,” he tossed whatever amount of earnings that had piled up that night across the desks’ forever stained surface to Keith.

He uttered a quick “thanks,” and turned to leave before anyone roped him into an unwanted and probably not sanitary contract. As he got to the bottom of the stairs he couldn’t help but feel like every word that came out of Varkon’s mouth was sarcastic, and that the guy had just found a better way to mask it over the years. Didn’t always work, but it wasn’t like Keith to judge that.

The ground was soggy beneath his boots, disintegrated bits of plastic or rubber and grime squelched under foot, he wondered just how much of the mud around here was actually mud and dirt as the crowds of drunks and betters milled around him. 

The question of what the ground contained had come up in conversation one day a few months ago, and Pidge had even offered to analyse a sample for him, but he’d declined saying that it was just a waste of time.  In reality he was just making an attempt to salvage the last sliver of his innocence, the substance below him had had centuries develop a build up that was metres thick, and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to know how many degraded dead animals he walked all over everyday, or how many of those animals were just rats and vermin and what weren’t.

 

-

 

The air was muggy and damp as Keith turned down street after street through the maze that was the Dawnings. The towering filthy buildings loomed above him, their tips seemingly disappearing into a dark void created by the shade of the Shadows’ discs way above them.

He was always thankful that his bike hovered just above the ground as the rivers of brown water that flooded Black Lion province’s ground level tore through the would-be pathways, any semblance of concrete had long since been washed away many, many years ago.  And yet, people still filled the streets, though most chose the makeshift roads of metal overhanging the tangled mess of walkways below. So many people meandering slowly through the waters carrying work, or each other, on their shoulders, had no choice other than the flooded ground or suspended rusted sheets glued together that were often too thin in their width for him to ride there. 

The storm wasn’t too bad this time, it looked like the rivers of overflow could only reach Keith’s ankles if he stood amongst when he stopped yet again, this time for a mother and her four children, tiny twig legs then scurrying into a door held open by an older man.

Though the claustrophobic streets still squeezed in hundreds of people, parting briefly in his wake, the crowd numbers were beginning to dwindle, and Keith knew exactly what that meant, even though he didn’t keep track of the days or months, or any sort of time really, he could always tell when the New Chance Selection was about to commence. When he saw the windows shut and the people take cover, that’s when he would do the same.

He was late today, even though the last race had been called off earlier thanks to the pile up, he hoped Shiro wouldn’t be too annoyed that he bypassed the alleyway that his brother lived down before going back to his place in the desert.

A young pickpocket, maybe ten, darted out in front of him, an older man yelled after the kid. A few people turned to look with disapproving faces, but ultimately, the thief vanished into the distance, probably now in one of the many turnoffs or dark aisles.

Buildings thinned and small storefronts faded out as he moved towards the last disc held overhead, though he couldn’t see the giant plate through the lack of acceptable lighting and tall cluttered structures leaning over the roads.  Skeletons of former buildings getting more and more frequent towards the outer edges, corroded metal rebars stuck through the piles of collapsed structures and the emptied shells of concrete covered in moss, the road was abandoned and sickeningly quiet. 

The thundering rain had stopped sometime during the night, though he would never know exactly when or what time, the discs caught a lot of water, like an inverted umbrella. Or a plate.

He used to think it was the coolest thing that raindrops didn’t find their way down through the levels to them, the mere concept of it simply not raining in this part of the city like it did at his lonesome shack was just  _ cool _ to him.   It wasn’t like that anymore, Keith still liked the feel of emerging through the city boundaries into a sheet of falling water. The cold air and white noise was refreshing, but in the city, it was now part of his daily routine, dull and unchanging. 

He mentally reminded himself once again to improve his navigational skills. The collapses that occurred all too often didn’t help, all he had was muscle memory as he turned down streets he never found the names of, the narrow ways made it all the more slow and tedious to breach the edges of Altea.

But the end was finally near, the disc rim finally in sight far above his head and Keith could see the soft expanse of the desert, still damp from rain and cold from the open stormy air, and he could smell its breeze through the mustiness of enclosed spaces and rust.  Old shells of buildings, their parts picked clean of any valuables signalled his freedom, and he let loose, opening up the engine to its full extent, whizzing across the deep hazel of the ground, kicking up stones as he went. 

Nothing could catch him now that he was under the vast sky that, for today, was painted grey. No-one would cross him out here, not even the king and his stupid parade float that seemed to scream _‘_ _ I’m richer than you, bow down peasants ’.  _ N or could the guards with their stupid polished uniform and flashy swords and guns.

He had half the mind to let go and throw his arms up in the air, just to feel more of the only place that he could see as a home of sorts. What he would give to have the open sands far below him and live his life amongst the birds, away from that damned city and it’s crowded existence. 

A stilled desert breeze moved like tendrils around him, curling and blazing as he madly charged between the growing number of rocks and small crevasses in the more hardened ground.

He curved around a wide rift and slowed himself down, with his house in sight, his burst of unaltered liberation came to an end, at least for today. Easing to a much more controlled pace, the speeding landscape slowed with him, the walls of his house would definitely not hold if he rammed straight into them, their weathered wood had gone through enough over the years without him having to interfere to such an extreme level.

Keith admitted his living conditions, in terms of space, far exceeded everyone else in the Dawnings or the next level above them, Variance, and he would even argue that the higher levels were worse off than him in the sense. He had the whole of the outside to roam through, and he had never taken the dust and dirt for granted, unlike how the Shadows or Climax probably would.

Both of the highest levels were the only ones in the entire city that were privileged enough to live on the sky-high floating discs, all of the rest of them had to live beneath all of the fancy expensive stuff. He looked back and up to Climax, in all reality, the discs didn't float, they were in fact supported mostly by the enormous lion statues on each of the five province's ground level, their chests puffed out proudly,  _no idea what they're proud of though,_  Keith thought bitterly, _the Dawning's are a dump, the line between Variance and us isn't even there, and Era is barely remembered half the time._

Wind tousled his hair as he pulled his helmet off of his head, he wiped the back of hand across his forehead and breathed in deeply. Finally, some fresh air.

The clock on his bike flashed dawn as he tossed a tarp over the dented metal, his father’s homemade stitching frayed at the ends and covered in a bleached green moss from endless days in both scorching sun and pounding storms, an old and faded motif of a red lion was patched into one section of the mismatch of greys and faded blues.  The familiar sights of worn wooden planks and old tyre swing and garden plots filled with potatoes was a relief to Keith’s mind after a full night stuck in the worn leather of his seat. An earthy smell from his little garden hit his nose, its watered aroma filling his lungs.

Thunder echoing in the distance told him of another chilled day of hammering rain while he sat wrapped in a scratchy blanket on the couch, nose buried in maps of abandoned complexes that were both within and outside of the city. How long it would take for it to get to him, he didn’t know, but it felt big, bigger than what they had suffered through in the past few days. He briefly considered returning to one of many trash heaps along the borders before it set in, scavenging for parts was at least somewhat helpful but overly finicky.

He trudged up to the door, shoving his hands in his pockets to find his keys. He stopped when his fingers were millimetres away from the bronze lock. Something was up. He turned to see footprints in the dirt besides his own, faint and barely there tracks to the door, the dent in the lock twisted the wrong way.

Keith slipped his hand around the knife hilt concealed beneath the lip of his jacket. 

He listened out; wind and passing birds, but nothing more.

Shadows danced across the limits of his sight, breaking away and reconnecting, their shapes only recognizable, nothing new.

He shifted his weight to keep himself quiet, groaning of planks wouldn’t do him any good.

He knew exactly how fast to open the door to make the least amount of creaks.

His fingers clenched around the knife on his hip as he took a step. 

He stopped.

“Shiro,” he breathed, shoulders sagging, “you gave me a heart attack ! ” 

Shiro lounged on Keith’s couch, right arm over the top, it’s metal gleaming in the dawn sunlight that barely made it through the cloud cover, let alone the dirty window. He looked to Keith with an innocent face, as if expecting to get away with almost killing him, the very much guilty man eventually broke into a lighthearted grin.

“What are you even doing here anyway? I thought you had your own place to hide,” Keith huffed and threw his satchel onto the low coffee table and shucked his jacket off.

“Can’t I visit my brother once in awhile, Keith?”

“You’re only here because that building collapsed near the Pits,”

“Can you honestly blame me for wanting to hide from our almighty rulers,”

No, Keith couldn’t blame him, but it just seemed like a waste to walk all the way out to the desert instead of the alley that he already lived down. He rolled his eyes and sighed again, “whatever, but don’t think you can just turn up like this all the time, Shiro. I almost stabbed you, again.”

“I like to tell myself that you’d have enough self control to  _ not _ do that once you realize that it's me, but apparently that’s too much to ask,” he smirked at Keith’s glare, “besides, you’d miss me too much,”

“Keep telling yourself that,” He heard Shiro laugh as he turned to the one counter top in his shack where some bread had been defrosting in a plastic bag, though going by what he could feel the previous night, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if it was still frozen.   He checked through his fridge for anything to use in a sandwich, the cheese had been there for slightly longer than what he considered good, but canned peaches didn’t seem to cut it when mixed with bread. He and Shiro would just have to deal with old goat cheese.

“How many did’ya get through today, Shiro,” Keith asked over his shoulder, “looks like you got a new bruise for your face,”

Shiro touched his cheek, a dark purple bloomed from between his finger tips, “about six fights, some guy got me with left hook when a fight started at the bar, and the Selection was happening in a few hours anyway, decided to get out early to come bug you,” Keith nodded and handed him a plate, “how did  _ you _ go last night, you’re pretty late today, usually you’re back, what, three-ish?” 

He shrugged and shoved some stuff off of the couch to make room for himself, “yeah, I did good, some guy from the tops turned up, there was a huge pile-up and he won’t be walking normally any more, I almost didn’t get through it, the turning on the bike’s getting heavier,” 

“You should go down to Hunk, get it looked at today,” 

“I was going to go before I got back but I didn’t want to get caught up in the pavilion on the way, and I just want to be in the quiet right now.” a comfortable silence set in, Keith leaned forward, picking at the crust of his chilled sandwich and stared into space.

He wondered who was going to be caught by their ruler’s parade, it certainly wasn’t going to be him, neither the king nor his snot nosed offspring knew he existed out here. They wouldn’t think it worth their time to come outside the city, they didn’t even bother to go down streets they considered alleys. And no matter how many times he almost stabbed the guy for sneaking in, Keith was glad that Shiro was out of harm’s way today, the collapsed building near the Pits opened up the street, enough so that the procession could make their way through it because now it wasn’t an alleyway.

He thought of what happened to anyone who was chosen and carted off to Climax, never to be seen again. Even though the the job's program promised connection to family and friends, no-one was ever heard from once they left.

He turned to look at Shiro’s arm, a permanent reminder of what had been the worst years of both of their lives. He often thought that if it had been different, if instead Shiro had been chosen in the Selection process instead, maybe things would have been better, or maybe he never would have made it back at all. Hell, since they never heard from anyone, the place where the chosen few were sent could well be a paradise of infinite food and clean water, beautiful living spaces and unlimited Cards to spend on whatever that was available, all you had to do was be a maid or shoe polisher. No-one truly believed that though.

“Hey, you good,” Shiro snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, a concerned look crossing his face. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine, just tired-” he replied, “-weather probably isn’t helping either,”

“Well, if you’re sure Keith,” Shiro leaned back once more, giving him a sideways glance, “unless Matt or Pidge finally got around to telling you why the rats are a different colour in that old section of Green,” 

Keith groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, “I swear if you say another word about Pidge's research, I really will stab you next time,” 

“Oh, so she  _ did _ tell you! Isn’t it interesting, the cycle of nature and man,”

Keith batted at his brothers teasing face, “shut up, Shiro.”

 

Shiro was still laughing about Keith’s “very attractive shade of binge green” when he left later on in the day, when they were sure the Selection process had finished. Keith prayed that none of his friends had gotten picked. Though he was confident that they hadn’t, they were smarter than to let themselves be taken away, but there was always a shadow that wouldn’t disappear deep within his mind.

There was a barely-there ringing sound that emanated through his one cluttered room when he closed the door behind him, only noticeable with the absence of the only people that remotely resemble family, even if they were still far off. He huffed, making the sound disappear for a split second, and took a bite out of his sandwich.

_ Yep, frozen in the middle. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, soooooooo  
> it was a terrible, horrible, destined to fail, spectacularly bad decision to watch the entirety of season 6 literally the day before the start of my exams.  
> If any part of this chapter seems erratic and/or the tone or focus changed really suddenly at points, it may be because I was still high on adrenaline from bingeing the season that was full of drama and action and FEELS OH GOD THE FEELS in one day, at least at the time of writing.
> 
> So this took way longer than I wanted it to because we also started renovating my house in the holidays, but oh well it’s up now, and hopefully future chapters won’t take so long.  
> I actually feel bad for putting Lance in the situation that I'm forcing him into for this, just because of what happened in season 6, I won't spoil anything, but know that some things that we've known for a while (some we half ignored, half didn't pay enough attention to) have been brought forward in a very... destroying of the heart way, especially once you start to analyse things about Lance's character and the impact of things in the environment have had on him.  
> If you can’t tell, Lance is in the spotlight next. things have started to settle down a bit, and i actually had a blast writing this, i hope it was just as fun to read it, and thanks for being patient!


	3. Oh dear another notes but don't panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no season 8 spoilers i swear

Jesus Christ.

Season 8 was... a time... was it a good time, or was it a bad time? I still don't know, I'm still buzzing with emotion. I still don't know what to think. I'm pretty sure I don't like the ending, but at the same time I'm not sure. But don't get me wrong, there are aspects about the ending I honestly hate and some that I liked/still not sure about, but like. Crap. There are things I really did hate and are still seething over. In all honesty though, I still loved watching the show, and I know I'll probably get over it in a couple of days with lots of fanart and fanfics, but geez. Way to kick us in the gut with a severed limb, stab us with a rusty nail and give us tetanus.

Anyway, so speaking of fanfics, don't worry, this is not dead, life gets in the way of a lot of things and at the moment I can only write in my spare time which was all but drained towards the end of the year, but now I'm on holidays I'll get a lot more done. 

I am currently reading over chapter 2 as we speak and it should be up either tomorrow or the day after, (keep in mind it is currently nearly two in the morning for me haha who needs sleep anyway) and from the recent events from season 8 expect another fic up soon that will be my attempt at making myself feel better about that ending.

Cool so, kick for life, I'll probably delete this when I upload chapter 2, and yeah. We're all friends here, try to stay positive, I'm sure any anger or regret will blow over eventually.

 

Keep it real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I tried to start a Twitter to post art on from my folio subjects, just any trials and decent sketches, (and voltron doodles), I literally had one post up, then I tried to post a second thing and my account instantly got locked. So like, just a tip, don't mention 'hell' in anything, that's what got me locked out.  
> Anyway, to get back into the account it wanted my phone number, and I didn't want to give them my number after the whole Facebook thing not too long ago. I would create a new account, but they track you down if you try to avoid punishment.  
> So. Guess I can't ever go back now.  
> Oops.


End file.
